Figments: Under the Burden of Nothingness
by Lix9799
Summary: A sweet little philosophical work from Rukia's point of view. "Watching as the blood dripped languidly from my cheek turning from a dry dust to a rich, fertile red..." "The unbearable burden of nothing only turns our imagination into something."
1. Chapter 1

What if we

could just throw

away the past

like it was nothing

Treat it like it'd

never last

pretend that it was

somthing

how I wish

that I could

be anyone and

throw away the

past

like it was

nothing.

_Don't own any Bleach._

* * *

Nothing.

The concept of nothing is hard for the simple human mind to envision. For the average child, nothing is a world without color. A world without laughter, fun and Auntie Mai's delicious miso soup. For the seemingly "complicated" adult, nothing is the world without another. And even if our defining nature tells us that nothing is, in fact, just the state of not being, how can we justify our wanting to define it as a world without light?

Try to picture nothing. What color would it be? Not red, white, orange. Not even black. If you close your eyes and look carefully at nothing, your mind creates patterns, patterns of no color, intricately detailed sketches of space, to make up for the lack of anything.

And what is this feeling of being immersed in nothing? Amazingly, the weight is unbearable. The nothing is ironically heavy, not on our straining eyes or sinking bodies, but our terrified minds which just cannot comprehend this state of virtually impossible being. Knowing nothing, feeling nothing, seeing nothing- it all leads to the development of an inner lunatic, which has been locked up in a rubber room chewing on it's toes for the past however many years we have been alive.

You wrinkle your nose in disgust. But it's alright. Once you get to know this pigment of your imagination, this comrade truly is quite a lovely person to have around. Especially in the predicament of surviving alone, surviving in nothingness.

There's practically nothing in the world that will be hard for us to believe now- our partners have taken care of that. We know every crook and cranny of this earth, perhaps not the tangible, but the imaginable. It is rather awful and dreadful when someone feels that there is nothing left in this world, the world of the Shinigami, to surprise them. And this is so morose that, even if Shinigami have already technically experienced death, the one moment of no pain, no sorrow, only nothing,

Death has begun to tempt and lure us into it's clutches again.

Weeks ago while visiting the handful of friends that I have in the world of the living, I saw a person in the world of the living wearing a grey shirt with the simple embroidery that said "Shakespeare hates your emo poems" while walking back from the supermarket. Just from the look of it, I knew she was an language teacher- the way she carried her bag, one shoulder lower than the other, slinging a bookbag most likely filled with truckloads of ridiculously naive papers that she would eventually have to mark full of furious red. The contemplation of the word "emo", which my friend explained derived from the word emotional, and this shirt lead me to the dusty old sonnets and tragedies Shakespeare that some of my living friends showed me in the school library.

This negative diction comes from a passionate and undefinable word- emotional. Thinking of a person, whose emotion makes them despised in the world of the living, makes me ponder the changes from what I was taught as child. Emotion is always a beautiful thing to carry, however burdened it may be.

Even if this Shakespeare hates all of my "emo" poems, and despite what all of the other's may say, I wouldn't classify my speaking as "emo" at all. Wherever this idea of a person that should be avoided because their emotions are dark, it makes me upset. When did thinking and pondering become such a negative thing? In my defense as well, this writing is nothing compared to the finely-wrought poems and novels that other superior minds have crafted. I'm just speaking matter-of-factly, speaking for my clean-cut mind and for comical and mental relief from the strangling hold of reality.

In fact, I've been feeling rather light recently, having given the burden of nothingness a great amount of thought, and I'm perfectly content sharing this wonderful insight with you. I don't know about the world of the Shinigami, but the world of the living has some delicious writing. Sorry to say, but I've grown rather bored of reading of history some high-assed noble clan of the Kuchiki's, even if they've saved my sorry behind from that impoverished village, I'm totally willing to bet my sanity that none of them, even my sister, has ever set down quietly to read even a single sentence of Shakespeare or Dante.

So this is how my monologue comes to a full circle, finishing with describing the emptiness, the meaningless living that we scramble about, so eager on catching that superficial hope. The idea of happiness-such a tricky, fleeting bastard- the more it is wanted, the more it hides; this unreachable satisfaction can only be obtained on accident, never purposefully. Emotion is what keeps us afraid of nothing, what keeps us attached to this world as a human, not a cloned automaton. The emptiness which we seek in a lifelong journey will never be found, unless stumbled upon, and what plasters us to this earth is not the unbearable burden of living, but the magnificent feeling of love.

* * *

I thought that I had found love in Renji in the Rukongai district- amid the poverty and misery. Kindness in Squad 13, from Kaien Shiba. Love in the world of the living, Orihime, Ichigo, Sado, Uryuu. And I'm so very grateful that these people helped me push through one hundred fifty years of life- no matter how poor, how ignored, how hopefully close to salvation I seemed, these people tethered me down to reality. In both the world of the living and the Sereitei.  
And I'm so very grateful.

* * *

But where did it all start?

Back, years ago.

The first decades of my life in the Soul Society can be almost completely neglected. Surrounded by the slums of District 78, I grew up as a person that I am almost too ashamed to tell about. But this growth was the initial stage of the person I turned into, a cocoon for a butterfly, and I feel obliged to tell it all. Engulfed in lies, cheating, stealing, crime- I would gladly trade my life to prevent another child from experiencing the same trauma.

Some days in District 78, as I was faint with hunger and dressed in tattered rags, I reminded myself that hunger was a sign of spiritual pressure of the Soul Reapers. When I lay face down in the dusty dirt, parched like a mule, I would close my eyes and think about my future- a delusional hope, a rejected dream. And when I was brutally beaten for stealing a loaf of bread for my friends, I would watch the blood drip from my sunken cheeks to the dusty dirt, turning the dry, crisp sand into a rich, dark red.

During harsh winters, I helped organize the children from the Rukongai that I lived with into groups. We would set out, one at a time, to loot the street shops and find cloth, to sew into clothes, and any kind of available food. If one shift were to come back beaten and hurt, another group of girls, led by Miyuri, would take them in, and then the other members of the group would have to take over. Amazing how poverty can transform a group of savage children into an organized society of thieves.

And when our shrunken stomachs were filled by the small crumbs and river-water, we would settle down and dream of our former lives.

Life in the world of the living is lost once a soul enters the other world; like a pin in a haystack, it's almost impossible to retrieve. I liked to pretend that I was a successful woman who had lived up to a ripe age and willingly left the world and heritage to her few children in the world of the living. Sadly, I knew that was not true. Otherwise I would have joined the Rukongai as an old lady. Even my fairy-tale was a fake. Fantasies, fantasies.

The mind enjoys filling up nothing with imaginations.

There were other children there, others who followed me, believing in my strong sense of morals. If I said that their faith was trusted wisely, I would be lying. As a child, I was no better than the criminals that snuck along the shadows; I was merely a criminal is training. And to reassure my self esteem, I would justify my crimes by claiming that survival must come first. This must be how all criminals turn their plunder into acceptance and perhaps even honored moral code.

* * *

When I was still wearing the red and white uniform of a training Shinigami at the Academy, separated from Renji due to my lack of skill and determination. How bitter I was, that Renji had been put in the higher class than I had, though I was always the one to come to his defense in the Rukongai district. How spiteful I was that Renji was well on his way to joining the Court Guard Squads, while I was still weeks behind, cultivating the seemingly non-existent "talents" that my teachers insisted that I had. He was better than me.

Renji; he was fast. Smart; good at everything. Everyday, he had something new to show me, something that he was nearly brimming over with joy about: a new technique, perfection of his shikai, some new kidou spell. He was sent out with the fourth years in his second year at the Academy, grouped with some of the most skilled Soul Reapers in training. In the morning, he was awake even before I could fall asleep, and the only time I would see him during the years was during the off-days, and sometimes during meals. He had so much to be proud of, so much to want. And while I watched his progress through my envy-tinged eyes, I realized that the only thing I could be proud of was him.

But this bittersweet pride could only lead to worse. I would change out of my uniform, toss it angrily onto the wooden floor, next to my zanpaktou, and swear that I was running away. Away from this place where only the happy and skilled belonged.  
So this widening split between us- between two that would have otherwise been undecipherable- was now completely out in the open. Renji was Renji. And I- well- I was the girl from District 78.

Why I made up my mind to follow the strange man- perhaps it was spite. Jealousy. Getting back at Renji for leaving me behind. But- aside from that, which I do shamefully admit to feeling, I assert that it was based more off of instinct rather than hatred. Hope for a new life, free from this never-ending cycle that my soul was trapped in. This would guarantee entrance into the Court Guard Squads, as well as entry into a royal family. The man, Byakuya Kuchiki, still puzzled me. Why such a cold, blase personality was so insistent on adopting a lowly Rukongai District 78 girl into the noble family- surely this would not only ruin his name, but his family's as well.

So that was the beginning of my career as a true Shinigami.

My life was being molded from nothing into a true something.

* * *

My story begins as solemnly as all other tales do; mine is no different.

Just a poor girl living in a rich world, saved by the pity of what some would call a "prince" in a fairytale.

Pity.

What a piteable word.

The idea of being pitied makes bile rise to my throat. Those who look upon as others as below themselves; they are the ones truly deserving of pity. If there's something that I must keep in tact, it is my dignity. My teachers at the Academy claimed that this particular stubbornness in pride was an admirable talent, which many of even the most skilled Shinigami lacked. Surprisingly, I find that awfully hard to believe.

They are mistaken if they believe that I am willing to risk everything. I'm most definitely not ready to lose.  
I'm not declaring that my pride is more important than my life. Perhaps it is, I still have yet to discover. I willingly joined the 13 Court Gaurd Squads, knowing that this death sentence would be my second. And following my dignity, I accepted this fate, constant looming of death, that hangs over constantly, even as I sit on the ground daydreaming about my pride.

They say it's duty to die for your Squad.

I would only agree- duty feeds into pride.

Perhaps this naive perspective can be spitefully called "selfish", but it is true. Nobody would sacrifice life if it were not a "dignity battle." If I could get away with being a traitor, coward, deserter, I can almost guarantee that I would. A battle between wills and prides is the most bloody battle; if you lose, you lose everything.

Even as I stand, pouring out my thoughts out to him, he doesn't understand me at all. I don't want his pity, or anybody's. I only want my dignity. And by accepting his pity, my dignity will be dissolved into nothing. A person with no dignity is a bird with no wings- nowhere to go, but to grope around for left-over crumbs by the feet of the stronger and more agile.

Byakuya- I know he would scoff. But inside, I think that he would agree, too. Even so, he must save his dignity by sacrificing mine. And perhaps, that is the only sacrifice of pride that I will accept. Even if it costs me my "wings". A promise is a promise, a deal is a deal, and I'm not ready to ruin the pride of a man who showed me kindness.  
Even if his kindness is some sadistic silent treatment, I still know it's there. I've known that it's been there for decades, ever since I was brought into the clan; hidden in the shadows, behind the silk haori of all the nobles. Only was it through this trivial kindness was I able to blend into the Kuchiki home, about as noticeable as a dove in downy snow.

Excuse me- I don't mean to sound like a whining child. I'm very grateful for his generosity. And I still need to repay the Kuchiki noble house for their disguised pity. The question of why I was brought to the clan is still on the table, and the only answers I have received have been thrown down as ridiculous rumors while I kneel, snivelling at the feet of the noble clan elders, waiting for my dignity to recollect before I can fly again.

* * *

_A/N: A little something that I thought you might enjoy. I started watching Bleach over the winter, and it's amazing._

_Still can't decide whether to continue this or not. I've been picking at it like a scab for a couple of days, reading over it meticulously, and I just can't remember where I had originally planned to go with in when I started writing. You know what would help me decide?_

_Heh._

_You knew this was a scam for more reviews, didn't you..._

_But seriously, I really don't know if I have the time to continue. Please review!_

_Thanks_


	2. Chapter 2

_"One hundred times I wanted to kill myself, but I always loved life more."_  
_ Candide, Voltaire._

_Don't own any Bleach._

* * *

So weak.

We children, grown up with the delusional, yet traditional, fairytale ingrained in our minds, are always set up towards a life below expectations. A fairytale always ends with the protagonist's success. A perfectly oval, if not circular lifelong journey which can only be lived by a character on paper or in mind. We humans and souls of past humans, Shinigami, can never even fantasize to follow such a fable. Our lives trek along some oblong, twisted and warped shape, starting out as a blessed child and ending far, far from there. I remind everyone to keep such concepts in mind while reaching for goals that seem absurdly far. Be prepared for failure, prepared for life that is not achieved as planned, be prepared to come face to face with the disgust you feel when you see someone centuries below you.

And when Byakuya first adopted me, in hopes of reaching redemption in my sister's faith, I tried to warn him that he was set up for failure if he placed any hopes in me. I know that when grey eyes meet violet, he thinks of the soft eyes Hisana had, not the icy, cold ones plastered with a forever startled look to a small and thin face - mine. His hard grey eyes remain wistful, and though he usually is able to successfully hide behind that stoic mask, I can see everything. The pain. The love. The bitterness. And worst of all, the hope.

I can see that he is trying to recollect his pride as well.

It happens to be that a year after his beloved Hisana dies, he finds the one thing that could have saved her. Can you imagine the hatred he would, and should, feel to me? He is forced into a corner, to adopt this uselessness into the clan on the word of his deceased wife, or to forget about the past, forget everything. He chose to restore her pride, not his. And had he done this a year earlier, it would have saved her life. All I do is serve as a constant reminder, and constant goading, of his failure in saving the most important thing he loved. So there you have it, a catch-22, the mighty Byakuya Kuchiki is stuck with a thorn in his side, one that he cannot rid himself of, but one that will always bring him pain.

Compared to Hisana, I'm just a copy. Not even a copy. Like a picture with a translucent screen over it; you feel like you can almost see but can't. I've seen paintings of my sister, faded in color and ink, but still beautiful. Her delicate, noble smile, constantly hiding the regret that was brewed because of me. She has shining light purple eyes, like mine except faded into a soft, pained yet fragile look. It's no wonder that Byakuya loved her.

I can understand him. Or at least I think I can.

I understand that the more he ignores me, though it feels like stabbing to the heart, t's so that he can avoid those stabs for himself. Because of that, I'm willing to receive them, without complaint or sulking. Though the Kuchiki clan would gladly have me thrown out, and I'm sure he would too had I not been his deceased wife's last wish, I would be lying if I said that I was happy. Even if I'm not wanted here, like a ridiculous clown in the palace of an emperor, I would say in my defense that I'd rather not be surrounded by stuck-up nobles as well. Had I not been dragged away from the life I'd already grown accustomed to into the status of a copy, I would be with Renji, and my other friends from the Shinigami Academy.

It's no wonder that life as a Shinigami fascinated me. It's no wonder that salvation tempted me. It's no wonder that mo matter how much I wanted to die, I still loved life more. Perhaps it wasn't my life that I loved, but rather my friends': Ichigo, Renji, Orihime, Byakuya.

Byakuya. Yes, that's it.

That's the one thing that keeps me fascinated; it keeps me stuck like a fly to flypaper.

Everyone thinks that they know him, understand him. But they don't - I don't either. When we meet each other in the barracks, I stare at him in awe, when he averts his eyes and strides on. This, I think I understand. I think.

The fact that life is so fleeting, so beautiful and unpredictable is what makes it desirable. Living on the pages crafted by Anderson or Aesop's fables makes you a pawn to the author's imagination. However, living without pride or sense of direction leaves you a sulking wanderer, stuck in no-man's-land and waiting for the death that's already practically there.

Finding the balance.

That's why we live.

* * *

Setting down my pen, I looked over my shoulder at the fading sun, hiding sheepishly behind the towers of the Sereitei. I was writing on the wooden floor of the Squad 13 barracks, waiting for Ukitake taichou to return from his patrol for the report that I was preparing to give to the Squad the next day. The evening air wafted in, chilly and light, with the faintest tinge of cherry blossoms on the move, and I stood up to go find my coat.

As I slid open the door leading to the barracks, Kaien fukutaichou stormed in, upset. His face was red and his hair messy as ever. A few of the squad members followed a couple yards behind him, sulking about his upstart and grumbling complaints. One man was bleeding from his shoulder down to his elbow and I jumped up, ready to call a Fourth Squad member to heal him. He shook his head, warning me not to come any closer. Kaien turned around. I bowed as he brushed past me, without even acknowledging my presence. The three followed behind him, but nodded as they past me and I bowed in return.

I wonder what's his problem. Perhaps they had run into the trouble-causing Hollow again. However,Kiyone Kotetsu ran down the corridor, following Shiba fukutaichou, but halted when she saw him and Miyako together. Instead, she turned towards me and inquired about the report.

I shook my head.

She frowned and looked back at the couple, who had dismissed the other Squad members. 3rd seat Sentaro Kotsubaki was gathering the remaining Squad members and leading them back to the barracks, taking over for Kaien fukutaichou. My stomach growled and I prepared to join the members for dinner back at the barracks, picking up my pen and parchment and tucking them safely in my haori. Kotestu frowned as she watched Kaien and Miyako enter the Captain's office, and grabbed my arm before I could leave, "Rukia-san, Ukitake taichou just returned. He wants a few words with you."

The girl patted me on the head. "Hurry." Her brown eyes were narrowed.

I ran over to the Captain's headquarters and knocked quietly. Inside, I could hear incessant arguing and Miyako's agitated voice trying to calm things down. Kaien fukutaichou yanked open the door, and I could tell that he was ready to yell at me to leave, but Ukitake stood up and greeted me before Kaien could pour out his anger on me.

"Rukia-san," he put down his tea. I stared in wonder that his palm and tongue were not scalded from the boiling drink. "Come in. We were just waiting for you."

Kaien grumbled and sat down on the wooden floor. Miyako stood in the corner, waiting for her dismissal, which never came; she followed suit after her husband and knelt on the ground beside him, leaving room for me to walk by. The atmosphere was tense, heavy with frustration, and I could feel the humid tension like sticky moisture in the air.

I bowed to the Captain and waited for him to say something. Making sure not to appear too cocky, I kept my eyes on the floor and took Sode no Shirayuki out of my belt and placed it beside me on the ground. I could feel three pairs of eyes, boiling under my skin, waiting for me to respond to a question that hadn't been asked yet. "C-captain-"

"Rukia-san. Would you mind joining Kaien and I on a mission tomorrow to investigate the Hollow's appearances around the Rukongai?" His stature looked as though it could not take "no" for an answer. I tried to remind him warily that his health was still on the verge of deteriorating, and that perhaps he should rest while the Squad took his place, but he ignored my rambling and repeated the offer, this time with an impatient and almost imperative look.

"O-of course, taichou."

I bowed down, burning with mild shame that I had rebuked him for his weakness, and waited for my dismissal from the dismal room.

Little did I know that things would only begin to slide to more dismal grounds after that day.

* * *

Nii-sama always required for me to report back to his Squad if I ever had any missions. I always wondered why he would want me to bother him with such unimportance, and I supposed that it was probably for his long reports back to the nobles in the Kuchiki clan that he was ordered to give every month or so.

Having obtained permission from fukutaichou, I put on my overcoat, which Miyako had given me from the real world half a decade ago, and packed up my pens before heading back to my chambers to get ready. Tucking Sode no Shirayuki tightly under my belt again, I kept my hand on her hilt as I made my way back to the barracks - following fukutaichou's warning about the stray Hollow's hiding and appearing in the Sereitei recently.

The moon wobbled in the sky, like the lanterns that Renji and I carried on New Year's day in the Rukongai District. We used to strapp glass bottles with fireflies inside to help us see during the raid of the food stands and holiday festival treats on every New Year's night, when all of the impoverished families set out food and sacrifices for the kami that promised a prosperous year. Had the poor farmers and their wives known that us scoundrels ate the food they set out, we would have been beat until our backs were raw, and forced to work on their farms to repay the little food we had stolen.

Lost in my reverie, I stared in awe as the moonlight reflected off of the slick sides of the tree leaves and cherry blossom petals, a poor but fascinating reenactment of my Nii-sama's Zanpaktou. The leaves and petals speckled the pathway and I took careful not to step on any cherry blossoms that were strewn across the pavement.

They were so delicate, and so fragile.

* * *

Beauty is paired with fragility.

Only if you give in to the ugly and the despicable, can you truly be _strong _in every aspect of the word_._

I will not argue that Nii-sama is strong and pure at the same time, but my definition of _strong _is not in any sense related to the idea of destructive power, but rather the resilience and un-ending will or determination _inside. _The strength of the inner will.

They say that the only thing which matters is that which is on the inside. Being kind, being compassionate, that results in weakness on the inside.

And perhaps, if I may add to the never-ending argument, that is the only kind of weakness that is truly _desirable._

The weakness in which you feel obligated to protect something that you _want. _The weakness which you will be willing to give up anything for that which is being threatened; the weakness in which you would go to the end of the world, looking to fulfill the the last wish of that one person. The weakness in which you would actually accept a disgrace without any complaint, only because someone _asked _you to do so.

The weakness in which you _love. _

And whenever I follow this path of thought, I always begin with Nii-sama, and end there as well.

_So strong..._

_But so weak..._

* * *

"Nii-sama."

His back is towards me, masked by the shadow of his cold room. All I can see is the boldly displayed Kanji "6" on his Captain's cloak, the only bit of my Nii-sama that is under the soft moonlight filtering through the roof and windows.

And though he shows no sign of it, I know he heard me.

"I'm going to be accompanying Shiba fukutaichou and Ukitake taichou tomorrow on an expedition to remove the Hollows appearing in the Sereitei."

Though he shows no sign of it, I know he heard me.

"Good night, Byakuya-sama."

And though he shows no sign of it, I know he cares.

It's alright that he is hiding this weakness. But however hard he tries to hide it, it's there. And it will always be. Weakness is like a wound, healing ever so slowly, but leaving a scar. His scar is still there, it's still there.

He doesn't even turn to bid me farewell, but I'm used to it. He is hiding his weakness after all, and I'm the root behind this despicable short-coming. I can't help but staring in awe at his back as he continues to dip his pen in the ink and scrawl his report onto his parchment. He is un-swayed, like a strong fortress in the mountains, but on the inside, he is fragile.

Those wickedly sharp blossom petals, soaked with blood.

* * *

And on my way back to the barracks, I am suddenly overcome with this rising bile in the back of my throat, so horrifying. I look on the ground, realizing that I'm actually staring at my pale, ghostly reflection in the water, and the moon is right behind my head, silhouetting my pathetic form in a black shadow- the man on the moon. Shaken, I splash the puddle into drops.

Was that weakness just now? A speck on the moon?

I'm disgusted. It's utterly gruesome and revolting.

This weakness that I have not noticed until just now... How did I miss it before? It's a wound, slashed right across the chest, bleeding, bleeding. Only will the ebb stop and dry for awhile when I reach deep within to find... _why?_

Why? Am I missing something?

That answer is easy enough.

It wasn't there before. I don't even feel pain for this wound in my chest. But it's there, I can feel the golden ichor drip onto my sandals, down my haori and replace the puddle that used to be at my feet. Shaking it off, I wrap my cloak around me. I need to get back, Miyako is waiting to help me gather things for tomorrow.

I'm searching for something while running back to my bedroom; how can I appear so collected when I feel completely warped?

Something wet is on my cheek when I reach the entrance to the bedroom. I pray that it is not the blood I had imagined moments ago as Miyako greets me. She asks me if it's been raining, and I quickly reply yes.

I haven't been crying, and it hasn't been raining

How can I appear so strong... When I'm just so -

_So weak._

* * *

_Please review! I didn't get any reviews for the last chapter, so I was really hesitant to begin this second one, but... amazingly something drove me to finish it._

_I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was a truckload to write, not because it was a lot, but because it was hard to put everything into a deeper theme. Sorry if it's hard to follow, email me if you want me to try to explain anything in this chapter._

_The quote from above, I got it from Candide by Voltaire. It's a great novel, and the quote just made me want to write this chapter, its a beautiful quote. Voltaire is a great writer, but I wouldn't recommend the book unless your around my age, middle school._

_Thanks_


	3. Chapter 3

_"nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands"_  
_e.e. cummings_

_Don't own any Bleach._

* * *

"Rukia-san! Come down to the river with me!" I would follow quickly, face flushed, trying to follow the bobbing red-head that was dashing down to the water.

I estimated roughly that we were at the turning point to becoming teenagers (physique-wise), which would mean that we had been living in the Rukon district for almost 50 years now. _Where did all of that Time go? _It seemed to have slipped through our fingers like sand, gleefully cackling as we stood gaping at it's retreating figure, one moment a child and the next centuries older. And we would reach out our hands, plump and soft, trying to catch the weaving of Time's clothing, only to be disappointed and retract a wrinkled hand, callused and worn with the passing years.

I massaged my bare feet into the sand, allowing the grains of sand to seep through my toes. Each grain was warm and dry, having been set out in the sun for years and years of waiting and basking. I bent down to scoop up an tiny handful of sand, watching it filter through the cracks of my fingers. I wondered how long it would take for an hourglass, filled with each and every grain of sand on the Earth, to finish keeping time. And I also wondered why Time seemed so abundant, yet so ethereal.

The water was surprisingly clear, completely devoid of any murkiness. I had asked Renji before where all of the villagers' garbage went after they tossed it into the river because the water was so clear, but he only grunted and replied with an annoyed, "I don't know".

Renji sloshed the water into his face, blinking as the cold water trickled down his chin. I followed suit, and finished by scrubbing my hands furiously until they turned a raw pink. The dirt and mud had dried on my palm, seeping into the cracks and wrinkles of my hand. That feeling was just so unbearably sick and I felt a sudden compulsion to rid my self of any dried blood and dirt on my entire being. Renji came over and grabbed my arm, the look on his face nearly unreadable. "Don't do that."

I scowled and shook him off.

"You're beginning to looking like an apple."

I sputtered. "Excuse me?"

"Your your hands are red, your face is angry, your arms are sunburned."

I turned around indignantly and made sure not to speak to him for another few moments. He walked off, oblivious to my rage and silent-treatment, and I couldn't help allowing for my sulking to vanish.

A dove passed by overhead.

I picked up a handful of sand and put it into my pocket. Then I made sure to scour my hands again in the river.  


* * *

That was about all of the talking we did during the holidays of the Shino Academy. They had let us out for a couple of days to revisit our families in the Rukongai when all of the sixth years were testing. For Renji and I, that time was wasted by useless days of moping around and visiting the few places we had grown up in. Our friends were not there anymore.

They hadn't been there for decades.

Oh, how Time has passed. I used to feel the weight of their absence almost as heavily as I would feel the weight of nothing. The tension used to be so tight, and at times would burst at the slightest provocation, but now, either I've gotten used to it or it has faded, the longing has practically melted into mere smoke rings.

A spiritual leader is destined to become a depend-er. They convert to the strongest of depend-ers in the group, and that will either lead them to achievement or downfall. It is the passion of their trust, either in their peers or their followers, that makes them the leaders. It is what makes the strong and able to lead, and when those followers are gone, so is the ability to lead. When my friends had gone, I had lost all that I put everything in. I had lost the love I had found, I had lost the hope I had found, I had lost the only kindness and respect that I had found; and before the blink of an eye, it was only Renji and I, standing shoulder to shoulder on the ruby-red river bank. And beside us, where there used to be a campfire large enough for twenty, it had been replaced with flowers and carved stones that marked the last time we had seen those trusting, friendly faces.

Not only was the space next to us empty, but so was my heart.

It is at those times when the mind tries to fill the emptiness with imagination. And it was at the height of that loneliness that I proposed the wildest and most absurd of dreams: that we become Shinigami.  


* * *

I plopped down on the ground next to Renji. He was tearing at a peice of venison on a wooden stick, while waiting for the miso soup to cool down. When I looked down at my feet, I saw a stingy pile of sand on the wooden floor, and noticed the sand slipping through a tiny seam in my pocket. I must have left behind a trail of sand.

Renji handed me a pair of chopsticks and passed me a peice of venison to eat. I nodded, feeling that the need for words was completely uneccesary.

The silence seemed to pour into the air, smelling even stronger than the salted meat.  


* * *

"Miyako!"

The silence seemed to pour into the air. The tension was so strong, it almost came as a relief when it broke as I heard a scream from far off. Like those days when the air is so tight, and each breath is taken with a gasp, I could no longer smell the faint, sweet scent of blossoms in the cool night air. No, it smelled of fear when a predator stalks its prey.

I followed Ukitake taichou off towards the source of the noise. _Kaien fukutaichou._ And as my wobbly knees and shaking hands continued to weaken, I could only repeat those two words in my head as we cut through the dark air. He had split from us to find his wife, who had led a patrol in the morning today. We had found all of the bodies of the patrol slaughtered not far off from the area the Hollows had been reported last, and judging from the size of the gashes, they had been killed by someone with a Zanpaktou. The only person's body that we had not retrieved was Miyako's.

When we had found Miyako, she was worse off than dead. The beautiful, smart woman that I had revered to the highest degree had been possessed by a Hollow. I wished I could have taken the pain from his eyes. His eyes...

In that split second, when he had turned to look at me while holding the sword in his wife's heart, I felt as though something inside me had ripped. He looked trapped, horrified, almost as if he were begging me to help him by producing a certain object that could reverse Time and send them back to their peaceful lives just a day ago.

The pain in his eyes, so terrifying and so... _painful_. And Time enjoyed all sorts of pain.

It was dark; I could see nothing. Perhaps that explains why I jumped at every tiny movement, every rustling of a leaf, and every _whoosh _of wind past my ear. My mind was playing tricks on me, creating little distractions and adversities in the midst of all the chaos. I could hardly see Ukitake taichou, even with his bleach-white captain's haori on, so I blindly followed his strong reiatsu through the treetops.

That night, I was able to taste the mixture of sweat, blood and tears all together.  


* * *

In the midst of nothing, something, something with an amazing reiatsu, appeared and I was appalled that the appearance so resembled Kaien fukutaichou.

The eyes were different, no longer filled with the warmth of battle, but the heat of it. The hair had become wild, almost like black fire a top of this raging creature's head. His mouth, usually mid-insult or in a smile, had become lustful, chasing after blood, blood, and more _blood_. And his appearance, no longer the collected but easily-annoyed fukutaichou, had been replaced with that of a disgusting, appalling, blood-thirsty possessor.

_"Kaien."_

In that moment, when I tried desperately to force my mind to reveal whether this was another trick, I realised that it was not.

I felt his breath on my cheek before I felt the blood on my hands. It was not the breath that I had known before. No longer did it smell of sake and tea. It had become pungent, sour, rotten to the core, and somewhere in that concoction I could smell blood.

The tangy, fearful smell of blood.  


* * *

They say that the most memory-inducing sense in the sense of smell. I know this is true.

When I smell the saltiness of the sea, I think of the Rukongai, and where we used to live. Waft me a sniff of cherry blossoms, and I think of my nii-sama. Near fresh laundry, I think of Ichigo. That connection is strange, I realize, but I believe this is a result of sleeping in his closet for a couple months. If I smell red bean paste, my mind retreats into memories with Orihime, and her lovely yet _absurd _cooking. Whenever people offer me sake, I recall the first time that Renji every got drunk. When I smell the choking, dry scent of ozone, I recall the world of the living, Karakura town, especially.

And whenever I smell blood, my mind involuntarily jumps to a grainy, smiling impression of Kaien fukutaichou.

I wish that I could remember him for something else. Something more beautiful than these last moments that are blood drenched and filled with terror. Perhaps his lovely and reassuring smile, or his permanent scowl, or even his rowdy insults. But no matter how hard I try to fight this particular memory, it has been there, and will be there, ever since, ingrained deeply into my mind. Perhaps even as deeply as fear itself.  


* * *

When I look towards Ukitake, he is blinking to avoid eye contact.

That is a wise decision, probably made from experience. I cry, but tears are not the only thing on my face right now. Neither is sweat.

There's blood on my cheek. And it's not mine.

Kaien fukutaichou is lying limply on me, and I can see the tip of Sode no Shirayuki behind him, dripping blood. The warmth seeping through my haori, I realize what it is now.

It's blood. And the fact that it's not mine, but Kaien's, makes it so unbearably horrifying that my entire body has gone numb. It has gone into the emergency state, my mind is retreating further and futher... back into memories which it is comfortable with remembering. I allow this pathetic attempt to forget the present to continue, and I follow my mind back into the past, where there is no sticky blood on my chest that is Kaien's.  


* * *

_On my first day in the Division, I am shown into a pleasant little room by another Shinigami, whom I beg to treat me like any other new member. He nods and leaves the room, without saying a word. His footsteps are curt, and I try not to let his aloofness dampen my feelings._

_It is warm outside, and the room is perfectly positioned to face the west. Like a sunflower, I will rise while facing the sun. The bed is tucked safely into the wall of the room just beneath the shadow, and a nightstand with a candle holder is on it's side. Aside from those furnishings, the room is bare. I smile as I unfurl my Chappy poster, wondering whether to nail it above the night stand or next to the small but satisfactory window._

_I hear the Shinigami talking outside, just a few steps away from the door. They are complainingg, by the sound of it, about favoritism shown to nobles. Kaien Shiba fukutaichou enters the room, introduces himself and scolds me for weak reply. I am so deeply happy that I can have a normal relationship rather than being treated specially, that I bow down and stumble a pathetic reply. That evening, I report to nii-sama that my first day had ended peacefully and that I did not attain a Seated Officer position. Nii-sama then tells me to leave. _

_I soon become Kotetsu's assistant and go on a mission to the Human World. During my time in the thirteenth Division, I become closer to Kaien fukutaichou. It begins with just feeling comfortable around each other, to feeling comfortable only around each other. Intense training sessions, lots of jokes that we share, even that one night when we sat next to each other almost touching shoulders when we talked._

_Seeing that I am uspet about something weighing on my conscience, Kaien sits down beside me in the middle of the training grounds. The day is clear, but my emotions are not and I do not want to embarrass myself by seeming sad about some trivial thing. I try to smile, and I scoot over to make room for him to sit down. But he knows that I'm not happy, and he tries to fix that after sitting down with a grunt._

_He reminds me, rather loudly, that as long as I am in his Division, he would stand by me even if he died. _

_I can not help but notice that our shoulders are almost touching._

_We are interrupted by drunk Kiyone and Sentaro, who try (pathetically) to encourage me. My spirits are lifted when I see Kaien fukutaichou shoo them away, earning himself a bonk on the head before the two others giggle and scamper off. And though our shoulders may not be as close anymore, I still feel as though I am near enough to Kaien fukutaichou now that I can almost reach out and touch his heart. _

No doubt that he has already touched mine.

* * *

He mentored me, teaching me how to fight. Our first training location was Mount Koifushi of Hokutan, the 3rd district of West Rukongai, where Kaien had taught me about the concept of the heart. _Never die alone. _He taught me about the passing on of the heart, and the strength of it. He was present when I learned Sode no Shirayuki Shikai's first two "dances".

Oh, how greatly I admired 3rd Seat Miyako Shiba. I aspired to be like her one day. To take her spot and be able to confidently lead the Squad. She was beautiful, well-respected, and strong, and I would stare at her in awe whenever she would return, tired but proud from a tough mission.

_Kaien._

_I'm so sorry._

I think of the meadow of our training ground. How you told me once about the heart. What a fascinating idea, concept. I press my hand to my chest, and I can feel it beating. _Who will be there when I pass it on?_

I have already given part of it to Kaien. And he has given me part of his.

* * *

_ Report to the Captains_

_When Miyako Shiba from Squad 13, 3rd seat, was killed by a Hollow, Rukia Kuchiki, Kaien fukutaichou, Ukitake taichou went to its lair. Kaien asked to face the Hollow alone. Its special ability destroyed Kaien's Zanpakutō, and Rukia attempted to help but was stopped by Ukitake taichou. The Hollow entered Kaien's body and possessed him._

_The Hollow attempted to attack Kuchiki, but Ukitake taichou blocked it and sent Rukia away as he fought it. She obeyed, but she came back to help Kaien fukutaichou. As it leapt at her, she noted that it was no longer Kaien. Unable to bear seeing him like that, she stabbed Kaien._

_ The Hollow was killed in the process, but she had also dealt Kaien Shiba a fatal blow._

_Rukia Kuchiki will not be dealt any punishments by the Soul Society, as seen through by Squad 13 Ukitake taichou. She will, however, be responsible for replacing the duties of 3rd seat Miyako, while taichou will decide tomorrow dawn who will be appointed the new lieutenant for Squad 13._

_ Ukitake Taichou_

_

* * *

_

The moisture on my cheek.

It is not tears.

It is not rain.

It is not sweat.

It is Kaien's blood.

* * *

That same night, I lay in bed, trembling. _Kaien_. And I want to rip my heart out, just to end the consuming grief and to rid myself of any pain.

In the end, it had not been my enemy to take him away from me; it had been myself. With my own sword, and my own hands.

He said that he had forgiven me; in those last seconds of his life, he clung to me, his murderer, and told me that it was okay. The peace in his eyes, which had just seconds ago been filled with desperation, did all of the talking for him. And as Kaien coughed and sputtered his way through his last sentence, his forgiveness, his appreciation that I had saved him, I still cannot forgive myself.

I want to run away. Rip my heart out with my hands and just end the pain.

But... My hands. They are forever tainted with the blood of Kaien fukutaichou now.

I leap out of bed, tear through the halls, and dash to the closest sink. Racing through my mind, I dunk my hands in the icy water, allowing for the sensation to sink it's claws into my mind. I scrub viciously at my hands, trying to scour off the blood. _The blood_.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I see the desperate and delusional Lady Macbeth.

Oh, the irony.

My hands are bleeding, but I am relieved. The blood is no longer Kaien's, it is mine.

And for now, I am okay with that.

* * *

_Thank you CielDoll and soulflower70 for reviewing! Thank you for giving me an inspiration and reason to finish writing this chapter._

_I hope you enjoy this chapter. If it is hard to follow, shoot me an email. I purposely made Rukia's thoughts jump from time to time, so it will probably take a tad bit of trying to understand before you fully get it._

_The quote is by e.e. cummings. I recommend any of his poems to you guys, and perhaps even check out his novel _The Enormous Room.

_Thanks_


	4. Chapter 4

_I promise that the red on this paper is not blood._

_I promise that the wet on this paper is not tears._

_I promise that the words on this paper are not lies._

_Don't own any Bleach.

* * *

_

They found me.

Oh, it's dark outside. The night air is slowly drifting in, through the minuscule cracks and seams of the door and windows. The cold is flouncing around the room, perfectly satisfied at letting me know it's there. It's toying with my knees, making them wobble, and messing with my fingers, turning them a plump purple. I would not be surprised if my lips were the same shade of blue as my trembling fingers.

I cannot see the moon; I wonder if it's hiding. The stars look abysmally lonely without the moon. People look abysmally lost without the moon. Their hopeful eyes, staring up at the sky, met only by the drifting stars that are searching for the moon, will stay there for the entire night, searching for what is not there. No matter how hard the moon tries, though, its light will always be there. The moonlight will always be _somewhere_. It will always be on the cherry orchard pathway that nii-sama enjoys; it will always be reflected in Sode no Shirayuki's beautiful ice charms; it will always be reflected in my nii-sama's eyes.

It will always be reflected somewhere- somewhere, where everything is beautiful.

* * *

They found me.

Actually, nii-sama found me. Eyes on the ground, perfectly helpless, watching as the blood ran off my fingers onto the cherry wood. There would probably be a stain. But for some reason, I felt almost nothing; no guilt, no pain, no embarrassment. There would be a yelling, and I would duck my head and kneel on the ground. There would be some nasty words, something along the lines of _'disgrace!' _and _'ill-mannered!'_, and I would let them flow over me. As I always did.

I think this was the first time he has ever been angrier at me for something I did to myself than something I did to him.

His face was set in stone, both angry and stern, and I found that I could look into his eyes, as long as mine were closed. I had told nii-sama this once, and he had scoffed, as he did with almost everything I had to say. But it still holds, as I look into his disappointed grey eyes, that I can meet him violet on grey as long as I'm the one imagining it.

For some reason, I don't think that this insight has helped me escape his idea that I might be out of my mind.

"I'm not."

As soon as those words are out of my mouth, he knows I've lost it. Completely spontaneously generated words, spoken without thinking, out of context and so unpredictable- I've literally given an excuse to be checked for my lost sanity.

_Lost what? _I'm tempted to continue. _Lost what I never had? _

I see something fall out of his intense gaze, and his grey eyes take on another look. It is hard to put a name to this expression; I've never seen it before. That is, I've never seen him look at _me _that way before. It is a fuzzy, hazier look, less stern and strong as usual- something that comes hand in hand with confusion. His disoriented eyes meet my disoriented ones, and suddenly things become oriented. He has only few words to say, and I can't hear them exactly. He is far away, on the opposite side of the chasm, calling from behind that stoic mask of stormy eyes, and I can't quite reach out and catch the words that the wind is barely wafting towards me.

"Get up. Wash your hands."

His eyes bore into my back as I do so, quietly, and most definitely not crying. The water has suddenly become warmer, and my hands are beginning to sting. My throat is salty.

To get rid of the jabbing stings in my hands, I ask myself what pain is. _What is pain? _

It's just an idea. Something that we make up in our mind when we are desperate. It's there, contained in that second world, the world where time, causes and space cease to exist. It's there, tucked deeply and safely under all of our other perceptions, and all of our other ideas, and all of our other spontaneously generated thoughts, only to be let out unintentionally. And when pain is released from its safe-guarded prison, it runs wild, taking control of the physical world that it has just been introduced to, and throwing our perception into a seizing, engulfing twisted maze.

So in a sense, it's not even _there. _It's not in the physical world; it's in the world that we are actively constructing inside our minds. It's in _my world. _Not anyone else's'.

Pain is a sensation- that's all there is to it. If it were not to be perceived by me, that very second, that very instant, the pain that I am experiencing would cease to exist. It would remain in that second world, having never been introduced to the physical one at all. It would still be bound in those imaginary chains tearing at its wrists and ankles, yanking and struggling to get out. Ready to run the moment weakness appears.

_Pain is not even here. _

This revelation brings my pain to a mere tingling on my hands. I have not once looked at nii-sama yet, but all this time he has been staring at me.

And perhaps because I cannot even force myself to stare into his eyes with my eyes sewn shut, I cannot bear to be in or near his presence anymore. I stumble out of the room as quickly as I had run in.

* * *

_Kaien. _

He had taught me about the _heart. _

Another experience that is hidden inside the world- kept in a cell beside pain.

The heart does not struggle to get out; it hides in every nook and cranny inside of the imaginary world, keeping everything to itself. The heart does not _want _to get out. It would much rather be hidden inside its room, kept away from everything else.

Kept away from anything that would cause weakness.

For if weakness were to infiltrate into the heart, Pain would escape. It would scratch, kick, claw at the heart, shredding it even more, until it is left pathetically inside of its room, neither bleeding nor crying.

The heart will soon just fade away, if the effect of the pain has been strong enough, and it will retreat, further, further, until anything will be able to reach it. The heart will take shelter in the furthest recesses of the mind, so far and so deep that nothing will ever be able to reach it again. This is a move of self-protection- guarding from anything that may allow pain to wreak havoc again.

The heart will be kept away.

It will be locked onto its own island, unable to reach the physical world ever again. And there it will stay, there it will die when the person wielding the heart dies. Because there will be nowhere for the broken heart to go, nowhere for it to be passed on to, nowhere for it to be shared, and nowhere for the heart to rest.

It will stay in its prison, barred from everything. Barred from pain, fear, weakness.

Barred from love.

* * *

With a steely resolve, I will not let this happen.

In my heart, I carry Kaien's.

If my heart is to fade, there will be no place for Kaien's heart, which so deserves to live, to go free after I die. This _heart _of his, which was large enough to forgive me, even as his blood was on my hands, will live on. It will live a life of strength, of happiness, and of freedom, and I am not one to stop that.

And this reason, this alone, is enough reason to keep my heart beating, breathing

keep it alive

for just a little longer

* * *

I've scrunched myself into a little ball, pulling my feet closer to my chest. My hands encircle my torso, and my nose is tucked snugly into my chin. I'm shielding myself from the icy wind outside.

My heart beats, just faintly, surrounded by all of this warmth.

And in my dream world, I am encircled by a warm, golden fire. This warmth is what I used to see in the eyes of my friends amidst the bruised hands and bloodied faces; it was the warmth that came after a nice meal of fish and water from the village, and the warmth that came when I was around Kaien during training. The warmth of knowing that there will be food tomorrow, there will be someone to be with, and there will be someone that wants to be with you.

I close my eyes in a pathetic attempt to keep the cold puff of reality from chasing away that warmth.

* * *

"Rukia."

I thought I heard her sobbing from my room. Her sobbing was so much like Hisana's; it flies straight into the heart, attacking at the weakness. This particular weakness, which has been ingrained into my heart by Hisana, has led my feet into her room. It is not disgust, or annoyance that has chased me to her room- I have yet to put a name to this strange nagging in my chest.

This nagging is something that a Kuchiki should never feel.

She is curled up on her futon. Her hands are not bandaged, like I had asked her to do earlier.

Her mouth is tight-lipped, her face is shiny, as if her tears had partially dried, but the salt has still left its trails on her cheeks. That stubborn bang is stuck to her nose, most likely by tears as well.

Her blanket is on the floor.

I watch her a moment longer, before taking my leave.

This nagging is something that a Kuchiki should never feel.

* * *

I am sitting at my desk.

The night air is cold, blowing in through my open window. I'm tempted to shut the window, but there are more important things than the air temperature. The maid is outside of Rukia's room, as I set her to do, and I have been waiting for her report back on how Rukia is doing.

I'm too busy to check on her myself; I am the head of the Kuchiki clan, and the 6th Division captain. I have no time for such unimportance.

I tell myself this over and over again, barely taking note of the scrawling report that my shaking hands are drawing out. _There is no room for this unimportance._

My hands don't seem to agree with me.

I convince myself that this is nothing; my worry has only been caused by Hisana's memories. The pressure she had put on me to create an educated, well-respected lady out of her sister is what is driving my body to shake rather than stand tall in the oncoming wind. Hisana's wish must be fulfilled, and a promise must never be broken.

I remind myself of this and look over to the shrine beside my desk. Hisana's picture.

A cherry oak wooden frame, dark, rich red, surrounds her meek figure. Her smile is faded, pale, just a copy plastered onto her face as an excuse. Her face is almost ghostly, and I cannot tell if this was how it truly was, or if the ink had just faded over the years. The age has sucked dry my Hisana, and is well on its way to suck dry me.

So was this all that this strange girl was? A promise?

_Yes._

Just a promise to the one that I failed.

This adopted orphan, taken in at the expense of my pride, is merely an apology to my beloved Hisana for my failure to keep her alive. I have learned from my short time with Hisana—never repeat such a tragic failure. And though this girl may look similar to my Hisana, she is far from it. The girl is a box of mysteries, hopping around asking to be cracked open. This girl is never one to be stepped on, never to be accused of anything that she did not do. This girl is also one never to _not_ be accused of something she did. This girl—she has taken my life, turning it from the calm, collected journey I knew to a wild, exuberant dance.

This girl, I'm bound to lose myself to her. I can feel it in my heart, warning me not to get to close to such a wild creature. _Hisana_, the one thing that my heart had ever melted for, _you have made me so weak._

I will never allow myself to go through this pain again—to see the one that I love deteriorate before my eyes, and feel completely helpless to stop it.

I will never allow myself to snivel at the feet of one who merely serves as a reminder for what has been lost.

I will never allow myself to follow my past—experience the giddiness, only to be lost a couple years later.

_But… _It seems that Time enjoys this sadistic toying with our lives. Time enjoys making fools of us, laughing at our mistakes not once, but twice, thrice, until we are driven to insanity.

I will struggle against the wickedly strong bonds of Time and shield myself from repeating the past.

That means no more secrets

no more desperation

and no more Love.

* * *

I am sitting at my desk.

The night air is cold, blowing in through my open window. I'm tempted to shut the window, but there are more important things than the air temperature. The maid is outside of my room, as nii-sama set her to do; she peers in every moment or so, with her wide eyes.

I feel shame. The poor girl is frightened—she thinks I'm a beast. I want to tell her that I'm not and reassure her that I am perfectly sane, or at least as sane as she is. For some reason, I have a hunch that all she will do is widen her brown eyes and report to my nii-sama if I did anything besides sit at my desk.

I feel like a freak.

This is the first time that I have ever allowed myself to feel as such, and this time, pain as most definitely gotten the better of me. This is the first time that I have ever felt suffocated by the choking grasp of Guilt, and the first time that I have ever let myself into its clutches.

Why, may I just ask this one question, did nii-sama bring me into this clan? To make me feel this way? Surely it was not out of the kindness of his heart, which he has never shown me directly, surely it was not out of curiosity, either. They have told me that I look like Hisana, his deceased wife and my deceased sister.

And nii-sama still does not know that I already know about my sister. He had instructed the servants and other people not to tell me when I was first introduced here. It was only because I felt so oppressed and cornered one night that I kidnapped a maid and threatened to harm her if she did not tell me why I had been brought here. And when she stammered out the excuse that my brother had already prepared for her, I offered her a bribe of my dinner for the next few weeks. And then I learned that the reason that my nii-sama allowed me to tarnish his name by joining his noble family was not out of any admiration for me, but rather for guilt.

And this revelation leaves me far from happy.

Though this answer may have satisfied me for almost half of a century, I have begun to wonder when nii-sama will realize that this satisfaction is merely a passing. And also, I wonder when he will realize that no matter how much he loves his wife, and no matter how much he wants to fulfill her last wishes, I will only turn out to be what I have always been- Kuchiki Rukia.

Not any high-born, pretty, educated woman that the noble clan is just dying to have under their name- I will be Rukia, not even Kuchiki Rukia. I will be that scrawny girl that died one day and could never remember her name. I will be that annoying kid that was left behind by my older sister. I will be that strange, quirky girl that grew up in the slums of the Rukon District 78, specializing in not calligraphy, or painting, but rather stealing and defensive fighting.

And if anyone would like to challenge that oath, I will gladly be the punk-girl to put a punch in their face.

* * *

"Kuchiki-sama."

The maid has knocked on my door, which I slowly slide open. Her eyes are guarded. I motion for her to shut the door; the night air is chilly and I am not wearing my captain's haori.

"Kuchiki-san had woken up just a few moments ago, and she is sitting at her desk."

_Awake?_ She should not be awake. Her mind needs a rest to heal before anything worse than tonight happens. Her relationship with Kaien fukutaichou was stronger than I had anticipated, and having been the one to kill him, she is probably feeling lost in her own guilt. I have prepared myself to stand, and I want to go check on her, but the maid tells me that she does not want to be disturbed.

"Tell Kuchiki-san that I demand for her to rest."

"Hai."

The girl bows and runs off. She looks hesitant. As if she is afraid to approach Rukia-san.

And as I settle down at my desk again, something strikes me. Rukia's relation with Kaien fukutaichou- Had it been strong enough to mirror Hisana and I's relation? Was Rukia feeling the guilt that had swallowed me for years when I was completely helpless to stop Hisana from passing on? Was she thinking the same thoughts I had when I had lost the one that I cared for… was she?

_Had she really loved him as much as I loved her?_

I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that the look in her eyes that had so haunted me an hour ago was the exact same one I used to carry.

_She's rolling a boulder up a hill in an endless battle and a fruitless struggle. Only when she lets the boulder go will she realize what a pain and burden that this load has caused her. Only then will she learn that these memories of nothing—something that is forever gone—would would better not be remembered.

* * *

_

The maid has gone to report to nii-sama.

"_Please tell nii-sama that it would be best not to disturb me."_

Knowing nii-sama, this sorry attempt at keeping him away would only last a couple moments. But this was enough time to step outside and clear my thoughts.

I wonder what Kaien would say. I'm sure he would have had a lot to tell me. And I would have a lot to tell him—_'I'm sorry', 'I'm sorry' _and _'I'm sorry'_. He probably would have fisted my hair and yelled at me to lighten up, and even then, I would still try to look him in the eye and repeat the two word phrase.

"I'm sorry."

My shaking feet led me towards the trail that nii-sama had ordered built for Hisana-sama. The moon was still hiding, no longer playfully. The moon had taken cover behind the large, grey clouds to stay away from the stormy weather that would come. An eerie pale halo circled in the center of the mist, giving away the location of the moon. The stars had concealed themselves well.

The trail, which was usually swept daily by a group of servants, was littered with petals and leaves. The moonlight spilled out onto the crunchy ground underfoot, like the enormous galaxy of stars peppered onto the earth. It reminded me of a picture that Renji had shown me when he came back from his first mission in the real world. He had flipped through a package of photos and gave me one depicting the so-called Milky Way galaxy. He said that this was the galaxy that the real world was in, and the small white lights on the picture were the stars that we see at night.

_Hm. Perhaps._

I had always been fascinated in the "science" that the humans studied. It seemed so surreal, different from the explanations that we were given in the Shino Academy. In the real world, our logic and ideas about the formation of the world falls apart; in the Soul Society, "science" falls apart. I've wondered whether the true reason and cause behind things was a merging between these two fields. Something that could explain everything that we have, and everything that humans have.

That would be fascinating.

Even more so than the explanation that Kiyone Kotestu had told me about—the heart that the humans have conceived. The humans hold the heart as their vital organ, something that pumps blood to the body and provided energy to every living cell. They think of it as only a muscle, which can be replaced through complex treatments—something like heart transplants, I believe Kiyone-chan told me.

Something so absurd and hard to believe made me pity the humans for a long time. Had I given my heart to someone else, what would I be left with? Besides just an empty shell that can walk, breathe, and perform other basic physical activities, wouldn't my heart me what makes me…_me? _According to Kaien fukutaichou, my heart was what makes me unique and not some boring clone of another Shinigami. My heart is what carries my life, my personality and my being inside of it.

So I've come to a conclusion.

The heart is the muscle that keeps our blood flowing, it is also the thing which holds our life. Our definition of _heart _varies from context to context, and when living in the real world, the heart is what we thank for our life and well-being. In the real world, the idea which Kaien fukutaichou and I defined as "heart" can be contained in some other word—like _history, _or _memory,_ or even _characteristics._

_Family, love, hate, pain, fear, exuberance, anxiety—_all of those words, plus more, make up the "heart". But for Kaien and I, we found that it would be easier to associate these traits with what gives us life, therefore calling the heart not only life, but also what makes us want to live.

If Kaien were still here, I could ask him.

I would ask him one simple question,

"_Where has your heart gone?"_

There would be two answers, and I would only want to hear one of them.

* * *

Settling down on the rocks beside nii-sama's pond, I shrieked when I felt the first drop of rain on my cheek, my left cheek, and relaxed when I saw my reflection on the rippling surface of the pond. The splintered moonlight was being blotted out by the dripping rain, causing bumping wrinkles on the usually calm surface of the pond. A dried leaf was battered this way and that on the water, floating from side to side as the raindrop-ripples propelled it against the others.

The pond water was clear, but I still couldn't see the bottom. There were a few koi swimming around in the pond, which I usually came around once in a while to feed when nii-sama was too busy to do so himself. I couldn't find them. They were probably hiding at the bottom of the pond to keep away from the rain.

Sode no Shirayuki was happy. I could feel her satisfaction reverberating through the hilt of the Zanpaktou, which I had kept my hand on all this time. She was strumming a light pitch which only I could hear, and it merged in with the beat of the rain quite nicely.

For just a moment there, I felt completely free.

* * *

"Hisana?"

She had run off again. I found her staring at the water, eyes almost shut. Her black clothes were blended in with the dark night; I could only catch the outline of her face, and the outline of her Zanpaktou. She was soaked in the rain, and I wondered whether the drops on her face were tears or rain. She was still here, faint and ethereal, but _she was still here. _And she was the same as I had remembered, quiet, pale and beautiful.

She turned her head towards the water and I saw those eyes. They were different. _Violet? _I realize with a pang that it was not Hisana. The illusion that had been cast over me was shattered when I noticed the purple eyes and the white hilt of the Zanpaktou. _Rukia._

What was she doing, sitting out there like a lame duck, waiting for sickness to find her? Had she not known that Hisana had caught her permanent illness from just a trivial cold? Was she trying to cause trouble to not only herself but the entire clan?

Even though I was irked at her ignorance and my earlier confusion, I still could not find it in myself to get angry. Rukia was still recovering from the earlier trauma, and sitting outside in the pouring rain could hardly speed up the recovery. I wanted to rebuke her and ask her angrily what she was doing out there, but the look on her face was one of complete satisfaction. My feet seemed to root themselves in the ground, letting her satisfaction last a little longer before light came again and wiped it all away. And in a sense, my stubborn feet were doing it for me too, allowing me to have my peace at her satisfaction before my duties and clan caught up again to cause more trouble.

And her satisfaction was enough for now.

_Yes. It is enough. _

…

The rain must be making me giddy...

* * *

_Whoot, long chapter. So I've gotten a few reviews about the typos and mistakes in my writing, and I'm going to apologize in advance. If anyone would like to introduce me to the Beta-ing of , that'd be wonderful for both me, the writer, and you guys, the readers. _

_No inspiration for this long chapter this time, except for the reviews that I got for the last chapter! Thanks for everything!_

_I alluded to Sisyphus in the rolling-the-boulder section, and if any of you are mythology nerds like I am, I hope you liked the allusion._

_Please review! The button has been feeling lonely for the past few days._

_Thanks_


	5. Chapter 5

_"Still— if I am going to spend eternity visiting this moment and that, I'm grateful that so many of these moments are nice." –Slaughterhouse Five, Kurt Vonnegut_

_"Tell me what you want to hear/Something that were like those years/I'm sick of all the insincere/So I'm gonna give all my secrets away." –Secrets, One Republic_

_Don't own any Bleach

* * *

_

_ I_'ve completely lost track of time. I stopped counting the heartbeats of the raindrops a long while ago and resorted to merely watching the falling water dangle hopefully in the air for a few moments before splattering to the cold, hard earth. The reflection that I used to be able to see so clearly in the water is now constantly being battered by the ripples on the pond, distorting the reality that we always search for. Just as the wrinkles on the surface prepare to straighten themselves out to reveal the reflection, another round of raindrops splinter the surface again. Even the moonlight on the surface of the water is being smashed into little fragments of light.

Oh, what I would give to be stuck in time, in this exact moment, where everything seems just perfect. If I could just keep revisiting this instant over and over again, and throw away everything that surrounds it, it would be enough to keep me happy for eternity. If we could just freeze Time right now, before Time has any other chances to cause more pain, everything just might be okay, and we might be able to struggle through that tangle of unhappiness eventually.

But, unfortunately. Time refuses to stay for longer than a blink of an eye. We are always constantly following Time, chasing after it—one hand outreached, yet we can never grab it by the scruff and keep it from running its never-ending path. Unfortunately. Kaien would tell me to move on. Renji would too. Nii-sama would scoff and say the same. I suppose it really is time to move on, whether I want to or not. Time is dragging us in its tow and we're completely helpless to stop it.

And in the meantime, it would be nice to dry off before catching a cold.

* * *

I didn't know nii-sama was there. Otherwise I wouldn't have stayed like a statue for the past few minutes staring into the water—now he thinks I'm sick. He insisted that I wear his haori, the large Captain's one. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember that being illegal. But he doesn't care, and I'm too frozen to object. He is getting wet in the rain as well, but it is almost impossible to tell by the stern look on his face. As his hair begins to cover his eyes and his Shinigami clothes become sopping wet, he continues glaring, not one bit deterred. He stares down at me; I can't see his eyes, but I can feel the tense crackling from them, like lightning just about to break from the sky. He orders me to sit back down on the mossy rock.

Which I do, of course, because I'm too frozen to object.

"Rukia."

"Hai." I have to force myself to think—_don't shiver, don't shiver. _He would frown if I caught a cold from this pathetic little outing.

My nii-sama's cloak is heavy, heavier than I would have thought. The thick white fabric feels like it holds the responsibility of the entire Squad, which my brother will always have to carry on his back. It's nearly overwhelming; I wonder how he bears the burden, the weight, the trust that everyone expects him to deal with. However, it does smell nice, rather floral—most likely due to Senbonzakura—and I wouldn't mind wearing it a bit longer.

"You should go inside, Rukia." It is an order, however suggesting it may sound. And his voice is quiet, barely over a whisper, though the anger and annoyance it conveys is most definitely there. I can't see _his _face anymore; all that I can see is his chin, and a bit of his lower lip. The moonlight shines on the bottom half of his face, dusting his skin a pale blush. His wet hair covers his stormy grey eyes, and I am thankful, because I would not be able to meet them.

I sigh.

After letting out that anticipated breath, the leaves sway and the rain continues to bombard the ground. The whisper of my sigh is carried off on the wind. "Nii-sama?"

His bottom lip purses, which I take as acknowledgement. A raindrop trails down the left side of my face.

"Have you ever sat down and thought about water?" I draw a curved line in the moss on the rock. He is listening, I can tell from the immobile stance he holds, perched on a higher rock.

"Water—a lot of it makes the color blue, but if I take a handful"—I bent down to scoop a bit of water from his pond and allow it to slip through my fingers, entrancingly slowly—"it is completely transparent.

"Water was cast out of Heaven, falling hopelessly down until it found the needy, open-mouthed people, greedy with thirst. And thus, it brought fertility to the earth. When the sun shined its light signals and the water slowly retraces its path up back to the Heavens, as if called by God. And whenever the gods see fit, they allows water to return to its loving people, below on Earth.

"It's the same thing with souls."

Nii-sama is silent. The rain has pattered down into a steady, slow trickle, and as the water dries on my skin, I begin to shiver. I gnaw my teeth together to keep them from chattering and making an obnoxious noise. His captain's haori is completely ruined, soppy and covered in moss. The building tension is choking—like the grey storm clouds that loom overhead for hours, deliberately having the people cower, before unleashing the torrent. I almost want for the atmosphere to break, to begin crackling with lightning as nii-sama will surely scold me and send me back to bed.

I watch him, and he looks at me. For the first time, I can see his grey eyes. They are filled with emotion that I can't, and don't want to, decipher. "Rukia, are you trying to tell me that Hisana will return when the gods see fit?"

I am taken aback—that he still wishes to see my departed sister. It pains me to see him longing for such impossibility; is he bound to follow the same demise as my sister? And what's worse is that I can't deny this without making a complete contradiction to my beliefs. This concept, this pain relief, is how I fooled myself into believing that Kaien and Miyako _will_ return someday. And this is how I relieved myself of the burden and guilt that was so strong in its clutching hold.

Selfish is one way, if not the _only _way, to describe my foolishness. I may have created idea this in order to trick myself, and when I realize that my nii-sama is hanging, mere seconds from falling into the hole beside me, the illusion snaps and I am outside. And I am given the opportunity to grab him before he plummets to the pit. The real problem with this idea, I try to tell my nii-sama, is not that it is _wrong_, but that it is _right._

"We believe that when a soul dies, bringing it back to our world will reverse the pendulum of the gods—time travel, in a simple essence. We are fooled into thinking that the exact same person, just years, decades later, will be remade, and thus we can forgive ourselves, thinking that the person will reborn and enjoy life a second, third, and infinite times. But this is the complete opposite.

"When a person dies, their heart no longer exists with that soul. The heart is carried on, if at all, by other people; these people are given a heavy, heavy burden. Though this burden may be physically _nothing_, emotionally and spiritually, this load may weight more than the burden of Atlas*. This weight is put on the receiver's heart, so that the heart of the departed can indeed continue living. However, this _living inside of the heart _is completely different from physical living.

"This living is the life that will continue forever in this new heart, and this new heart will forever carry the perception and idea of that person from the carrier's point of view. Often, this living will be created from memories and external factors—in a sense, this may not even be that specific person anymore. The idea that lives is _your _idea, not the actual idea of the person. Taking this into account, the Kaien that lives in my heart is _not _Kaien; it is the Kaien that I created inside my heart from the foundation of memories I retrieved from when he was alive.

My throat convulses and saliva gathers in the cavern of my mouth, as if warning myself from speaking any more.

"He won't be coming back. Though his soul may be reborn, his heart and his person will only be able to live on inside me. No matter how much we may long, pray, cry, or hope, the only way someone can continue to live after their soul is separated from their heart is to live on in yours."

I wipe my face—the rain sliding down my face is beginning to taste salty. Nii-sama has shifted over to the rock that I am sitting on, and settles down silently, the closest to me that he's been in years. His presence seems to crackle in the air, making it colder and warmer at the same time. The sobbing that is coming out of my body seems so far away, as though it's beyond me and my feeling. I reach out to myself to touch my face, and try to wipe away my tears, but my cold fingertips pass through the illusion of my body and through my cheek. I draw away, disgusted.

Nii-sama seems to notice that I am taken aback by something. He leans forwards to get a closer view of my face and I open my mouth to try to tell him that I am fine. The words don't come out of my mouth, and neither do they from his. Ringing silence ensues as we continue to try to form words that seem as though they _should be right there, _but aren't. As the stormy tension brews up into a swirling cloud, he breaks it with one sentence that has taken so long to piece together, "Hisana still lives on…" And he leans closer to look at me longer, as if to gauge the reaction on my face.

I know what he is going to say, and I don't _ever, ever_ want to hear those words.

"…In you."

Before he's had the time to spit out the last sound of the words, I have already turned away. The grey that was in his eyes reminded me of the moon—too close, too intense for the already suffocating moment. They were a distracting grey, with dances of black and speckles of white interspersed among the cloudy storm. I learned to read his emotions from merely observing the color of his eyes. I wonder to myself if he's learned to do the same with mine. I am highly skeptical. He has never taken the time to truly look me in the eyes without seeing my sister. It's a role I've fallen into—molding me into what my nii-sama wants and expects of me to be, a noble woman, like my sister.

In a way, it's very disheartening. While I thought that accepting nii-sama's offer to join the Kuchiki clan would allow me to restart my pathetic life in Inuzuri and perhaps lead a new, refreshed, renovated and inspiring life, it's quite different. Not only have I already been stuffed into stiff leather shoes and been told to act out the role of my older sister, but I have to option to return to my original life—which at times, I would gladly do without a second thought. I can see it in his face, whenever he looks at me; he is paining himself by seeing a pale recreation of my sister. And though it may be like tearing open a new wound every time he unfortunately bumps into me in the estate, he still willingly keeps me here. His love must have been undying and very passionate. Because of that and how well he treated my sister when I wasn't there with her, I think I'll be able to stand tall a little longer and force myself through the tangles.

The only thing I wish was that he wouldn't cause so much pain to himself.

I tell him that she can't live on in me if I have never met her before because I would not be able to make any sort of hallucinogenic hologram of her in my mind without memories.

He frowns and leans in even closer so that my back touches his shoulder. A drop of rain drips from his face onto my shoulder and I shiver. The rain has just about subsided and the little battles on the water surface have straightened out. The koi pond slowly comes back to life, in our hearts and in our physical world. Following the example of the fish, the moon slowly creeps out of the shadows to check if the road is clear. The light shines on nii-sama's face, making his eyes impossible to get a glimpse at, even more so to understand.

"It's time to go inside."

He picks me up, much against my will, and I beg him to set me down. Nii-sama does not once look into my eyes, but rather looks at the moon, awed at the beautiful sight in the dark night. A few leaves and petals drift soundly downward quietly and sneakily, and wither as the moonlight reveals their slow dance to the ground. I keep my hand on Sode no Shirayuki for without any apparent reason—it's become a habit to be prepared for anything. My shoulder collides with his with each step he takes and he takes no notice of it. His captain's haori is still wet, and I wrap it closely around my arms, in hopes to keep the wind from picking up the goose bumps on my skin.

The long trek back to my room seems to take forever. Nii-sama allows me to walk into my room, after retrieving his haori from me, and calls the maid to come prepare me for bed.

The maid timidly walks inside, and I tell her that she is not needed. It is very late and she looks exhausted. I apologize for keeping her from sleeping well, and she bows before stumbling off in a half-away, half-asleep stupor.

I quickly get ready for bed and tie my hair back to the nape of my neck so the rainwater does not stick to my face. My hands are pink from the cold, and I cuff them together to keep them warmer. The futon is warm and luxurious, but it is not _cozy. _I have not experienced _"cozy" _in many years, and have lowered my expectations to be alright with just warmth and satisfaction.

Just as I climb onto my futon, nii-sama walks inside without knocking. He is still wearing his Shinigami clothes, as well as a satisfied, yet regretful, expression on his face. "Rukia," he walks over to where I have lain down and drags the blanket over my shivering body. The silk fabric is cold.

"Thank you."

With those two words, he is able to convey everything. Had he said anymore, he might not have been able to do the same job of helping me to understand everything he intended to say. But I understand now, and I am glad he came to let me know.

I watch his retreating figure stride out the door, carefully sliding it closed. His steps reverberate through the hallways of the estate, and I can see his poised figure through the papery material of the door, stopping ever so often on his cherry tree garden trail to watch and ponder a thought that has crossed his mind. I rub my eyes and allow the chill from the blanket to soothe my tired limbs.

So it goes. There are those roles in the world, people who are like water, who fill in any spot or position that is needed of them at that time. Like an actor on stage, these people can step into the stiff shoes of an advisor or the bare feet of a child, and just be satisfied by the situation of the surroundings as a result of whose life story they are performing at the moment. Those people can just sift into the mold of any other person, whenever it's needed of them—to be a lover, a sister, a friend, a savior. They can offer enlightenment when it is needed, they can offer hope when it is desired, and they can offer a life when one must be taken.

Those are the roles of the people who wander from character to character. They have no defined person to be—these people are the people who migrate, as characters do in a book or play, from person to person, just to step into the one role that is needed.

Nii-sama's figure becomes a mere blur through the translucent door, and soon the blur becomes nothing. The curtain between us drops with a soft _thud _to the petal littered ground and I close my eyes, drifting off to sleep.

* * *

As I sit at my desk, hands wrapped around my head, worrying, are you worrying, too, Hisana?

As I surrender myself to life, are you peaceful Hisana, where ever you are?

As I struggle upstream through the torrents, are you calmly standing and watching the sunset reflect and shimmer on the ocean? Are you thinking about how we used to stand together, holding hands, watching the ocean underneath the balcony of our room?

As I sit thinking about you, Hisana, are you thinking of me too?

It's cruel how quickly you were stolen from me after all the years it took for me to find you, Hisana. It's wicked that just after I fell head-first into your life, with my heart wrapped so tightly around you and your beautiful smile, I was never to hear you breathe and see you smile again after so little time. What's even more evil is that we must be separated by Life. We can do so little to control the reaches of Life, but merely ebb along with the sloshing tide. We can only look back at the sunset as we drift away on the currents—and we can never quite reach each other, as you are drifting on the other side of the river band.

The most hurting thing is that you left me with your sister, thinking that she would be enough to make up for you. This quirky little girl scampering about the house could barely compare with the beautiful, intelligent, fragile woman you were. Though the looks on the outside are so similar that it is heartbreaking, I've learned that Rukia is almost the exact opposite of what you were. She is not someone that could be molded by love, nor is she someone that needs love. She is not the same person as you were, not nearly as docile, not nearly as quiet, nor peaceful.

You were the ocean—organized, calm, soothing—brushing up against the coast. You were the water that could be molded into any shape; you could slip through my fingers when I scooped you up. And whenever I would lean in towards the waves, you would draw back quickly, timidly (perhaps even teasingly). You would slowly resurge with every pounding wave, and I could never embrace the whole of you. You were beautiful, and you were my Hisana.

Rukia is a tumbling mass of chaos, both burning and freezing to the touch. Her world consists of wild and calm, black and white, fire and ice—a collaboration of everything—and whether this makes her more intriguing or simply repelling, I still have yet to come to terms with. Whenever I touch her, I recoil at the harsh contact, and she repulses me and pushes me away with her defiant and unsure personality. At times, when it seemed that she would be there, she would be completely invisible, and at most unexpected times, she could show up. Her unpredictability is most disconcerting, but the one thing that she will never waver in is friendship and love—a trait that most would die for.

Rukia, yes, she is merely my sister. She is the most interesting person I've come past, besides my departed wife, who was a handful to decipher as well. The polar opposites that I have been dealt are so different, but so similar. They are so similar it makes my heart lurch every time I see Rukia, and whenever I see her defiant scowl, and her crooked smile.

How could you deal me such a card, Hisana? How is she to play a role in this cruel, unending game of life?

How could you give me Rukia and expect me to be able to forget you?

_How could you ever hope that I would stop thinking about you?_

* * *

_Thanks for reading! And an extra thanks to soulflower70 and Nami-sam625 for your reviews of chapter 4! _

_In English, we just finished the book Mr. Pip__ by Lloyd Jones this week, and one section of the book made me want to write this chapter. I read Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut, one of my favorite authors, and that's where the quote from the top is. One Republic has been my music of the week, and I love them XD. (The quote is from Secrets) Also, if I may reiterate my desire for a beta-reader and someone to help me out with this organizing (I'm quite technically challenged) that'd be much appreciated._

___Anyways... For those of you wondering whether I have a plot in mind or not, I kind of shock myself by saying that I actually have no idea where this story is going or how long this story will be. I figured that we could find out and let the ink unravel itself, eh? (In other words, I'm not as organized as I portray myself to be) But seriously, I am very thankful to all of my readers and all of my reviewers. Please, please, please drop by some advice and such so I can improve, and if anyone has any suggestions for a plot line or such, that'd be great to shoot by me too._

___My excuses for not updating soon, I have been preparing for Quiz Bowl tournaments and my Mathcounts State tournament, which we did pretty well at. (5th place, in fact... not to brag or anything :D)_

___I have an idea-if any of you are even reading this ridiculously long author's note- Let's aim for 5 reviews this chapter! _:D _And though these little review-getting-inspiring-cheating-tricks may be getting a bit annoying to all of you FanFiction readers, it'd definitely a plus for me. If I get a lot of reviews, not only do I start bouncing off the walls after I receive a notification, but I will also be more inclined to write and update more! (See this little trend-thing I have going? XD)_

_Anyways... *phew* Such a long note. Please, please review and thank you for reading!_

_Oh, another excuse. I had this prepared and all ready to update Sunday evening, but the FanFiction server didn't seem to be working well for my wheezing ole computer... Let's see if I can get a few more shots in before retiring to bed. XD_

_GAH! I had this chapter ready days ago, but FanFiction wouldn't let me click on any of my stories. I also will update my story My Fortune for any of you Inuyasha fans._

_Sorry for the wait :(_

_Thanks_


	6. Chapter 6

"_This is how the world ends/not with a bang, but with a whimper" –T. S. Elliot_

"_So it goes." –Kurt Vonnegut_

Don't own any Bleach.

* * *

So it began, and so it goes.

I've been ordered to the Real World, on the request of Ukitake taichou and the rest of the Soul Society. I had planned to check by nii-sama to see if I had his permissions, but changed my mind just seconds before sliding open his door. I knew at once that he would most definitely object, and insist that I remain here while he ordered someone "readily fit and available" to complete the job in my place. And perhaps because of the pounding headache (which Unohana taichou claimed was due to a cold), I found that I could not bear to even look into that glinting, overbearing smirk that appeared on his face whenever he insulted my pride to my face.

The crunching of leaves under my feet became a steady, rhythmic balance that alleviated the pounding nausea in my head. I could hear the sloshing of the small waves in nii-sama's pond, and the chirping of the eager crickets as I rushed past his humid, stuffy estate in a desperate attempt to escape back to my designated mission. The clouds began coagulating in the west, giving way to the sickening moon. As the humidity parted, cold air gushed through and chilled through the rough fabric of my cloak.

A few carefully calibrated footsteps followed behind me, and I knew the irritating maids were following me again on nii-sama's orders. This would not be good if news of my appearance was revealed to Ukitake taichou, for the entire Squad had sent me off this morning as I prepared to leave, and they must believe that I already reached the Real World. Not only would Ukitake learning of my presence here be horrid for my reputation among the Squads, but I would also not be permitted to travel to and from the Sereitei and the Real World for a long period of time until I could regain the trust of my superiors. I tried my best to weave around the looming trees and jump to heights that the maids had no hope of ever reaching to (as ordinary souls), and I was shocked to hear a rather disgruntled, but elegant, landing just tail-lengths behind me as I landed on the rooftop of the Squad Six barracks.

The chase was on. I darted and dashed upon the slippery rooftops, trying my best not to overexert or exhaust myself; I needed my energy to pass through the Precipice World later. Using shun-po in a couple of dire situations when the chasers were closing in on me made my breathing rise to an uneven galloping, like that of a frisky horse in a wild race. Sode no Shirayuki protested and itched at my palms, trying to elucidate and give me reason to draw her hilt and slash apart the nuisance. I shoved my hands into my pockets, leaving my sword ringing with discontent, as I leapt into the air with an un-ladylike grunt and swung my legs around a branch of the strong oak tree above the roof, hanging upside down from the sharp twigs from my knees for a split moment. A few sharp ends scratched at tore at my skin. My momentum carried me off of the branches and launched me off towards the training grounds of the Squad. Blood trickled down from the back of my knees to the back of my calves. I could feel a few splinters embedded in my skin. For a moment, just as I was hanging in the air, I could see the silhouette of the chaser. I realized, stunned, that a fellow Shinigami was following me.

This made the chase much harder, and the reason much more dire.

The Senkaimon was just over the hill—all I had to do was cross over Squad Six territory into Squad Two territory and safely pass through the woods. There had been a shortcut Kaien had shown me years ago, just along the small trickling stream and past the clumps of wild mushrooms. This little back-way had only been used once (by my knowledge), by Renji and me, as we tried to enter the Rukon District without permission. The only factor that played into our plan which caused us to fail was nii-sama. Which meant that there were three people in the Sereitei that knew of the shortcut as of now, Renji, nii-sama and me.

My feet struck the ground with much more impact than I had anticipated, and I stumbled forward a few steps before realizing that my ankle would need some time to take the shock. Cursing under my breath, I stole away into the creeping shadows of the Squad Two buildings and waited for my chaser to run past, thinking I had gone up ahead. My left hand clasped around my left ankle, feeling for any protruding bones that may have been broken, but I kept my right hand on Sode no Shirayuki (she was still biting at my palms) in case of a poorly planned surprise attack from the chaser. Ukitake taichou had expected my mission to have been initialized this evening, and the sky had already grown to a melancholy, lonely dark. He would be disappointed to learn that I had been stopped already by a mere Shinigami in the Sereitei. I rested a couple more heartbeats before limping and rather awkward running to the nearest shadow of the Squad Two territory buildings.

I continued on with this pathetic running and hiding technique before my ankle began to throb even more. I tore a strip off of my sleeve and slung it around my ankle and the indent in the middle of my foot, to keep the pressure on the painful joint. It would heal soon enough, as all of my physical wounds healed. The only wounds that had trouble dissipating were the ones that bled deeper than any broken bone or fractured ankle could dream of reaching. The black fabric around my foot made my sandal harder to fit back on. Frustrated, I tucked the sandal away inside my haori, with the cold, wooden sole against my chest. The footsteps of the chaser had long gone.

Sighing, I bit down on my lip. The strip of fabric was so tightly wound around my ankle that I could hardly feel any pain, or pleasure, anymore. It was possible to run, and here was my chance, my chance to escape before nii-sama or any other Shinigami realized I had gone, and before the chaser had time to stalk me down. The Senkaimon was just up ahead, guarded by two drowsy and dozing guards. I made a note in my wracked mind to remind Ukitake taichou to check up on guard duty, and repair the quality of the guarding, when I returned. The Senkaimon was open, just a tiniest crack, allowing a mere bit an energy to flow in and out of the gate. The huge marble doors creaked with just the slightest blowing of winds and the light wavered whenever shards of cherry blossoms and leaves twirled by and intercepted the incoming brightness.

The Real World would be beautiful, more beautiful than I had ever remembered, and more lively than I had ever dreamed. I had already planned to take shelter in a gigai and join friends, hitting two birds with one stone: I would complete the missions and investigations, and also manage to appreciate and re-experience the beauty of human life. Living as a human seemed so light, so weightless—there was always the reassurance for a human life that Death remained. Death would always remain in that exact same spot, same moment, same instant of Life in which it had been destined to wait ever since our birth. Life was like a feather—one _poof_, it's here, and another _puff _and it's gone—but Death remained, standing strong in the wind, never bending or wavering at all. Life was so appealing, and Death so inevitable. They are paired as a rose is with its thorns; a beautiful rose is one that has many finely wrought and wickedly sharpened thorns, waiting to protect its beauty.

I dashed into the dancing shadows from the Senkaimon like an insect attracted to light. The shadows were beckoning and crying out—_Come closer,_ they whimpered_—_and they were so beautiful, so temporal and so fragile that it felt almost sinful not to reach out and try to catch them. The light was warm; it was a pale red and a soft orange, blended to perfection and into an ethereal color that resembled the soft fuzz of peaches and the strength of flame. My fingers tingled as I reached out to the light. While my entire being was shivering from the nothingness of the dark, I longed to feel the burden-less light and the being that radiated from it. It was as if I were reaching into Life itself, being itself, and feeling the pounding pulse against my throat. My hand connected with the light, and it was pure ecstasy. It was beautiful, warm, everything that my empty, dragging life was not. I could feel a second beat against the pads of my fingertips, a soft yet demanding melody playing against my skin, tapping softly and singing sweetly in a beautiful entrancing performance.

I shut my eyes and allowed the presence to wash over me, more refreshing than any bath, and more soothing than any love. It was the embodiment of cleanliness and the embodiment of Love. It was Life, and it was everything that was not Death. I wondered whether it was because I had been immersed in Death for so long that I was now drowning in the opposition of Life. When I had been born into Life, it had not seemed even close to the sensation or conception of what I had now. Time had compensated and turned our minds, our faded memories of Life had been refreshed, and now ten, one hundred, times more strong and beautiful.

There was a strong iron grip on my body that was not in contact with the light. A yanking pull, inviting me back to the darkness, begging. A strong clutch wrapped around my wrist, and the instant that I turned to object and to beat against the force pulling me away from my Life, I was swept into the air by some metallic, strong, unwavering force that did not budge against my pounding and beating. The only indication of flight was the soaring wind against my cold face.

Through my tear-smeared eyes, I was unable to look more closely at the thing which was snatching me away. The rough fabric against my throat indicated that the person was a Shinigami, and the strong muscular build beneath the fabric meant that the person was a powerful one as well. A thin hand sternly brushed up my chin, forcing me to catch the gaze of the follower.

"Rukia."

* * *

And there it was—the split moment where the thin sheet of ice cracks and slips out from underneath your footing and the world suddenly disappears beneath your conception. Every bit of warmth that I had gotten so close to reaching was blown out by a modest gust of wind, carrying the faint aroma of blossoms and cherries. This sensation was not dark, not in even the most positive connotation of the word, but rather a beautiful and painstakingly careful solution of light and dark. It was a soft pale grey, the same color as the worry and the frustration in the gaping pupils facing me.

"Nii-sama?"

* * *

And there it was—the split moment where the thin sheet of ice cracks and slips out from underneath your footing and the world suddenly disappears beneath your conception.

So it had been Rukia, all these moments that I had hoped not, and prayed not, it turned out that the traitor was right underneath my hands, right under my gaze. And she had still managed to slip out. The thief, robber, whatever foul name you prefer, had so conveniently turned out to be the one human in the world that had shown any affection for me, and the only one who had accepted any affection from me as well. Yes, it was the exact moment when all rooting and footing fails and the heart is yanked upwards while the rest of the soul is yanked down.

And how can she say my title, address my relation to her, so softly and innocently, as though she had not expected me to come chasing after her? As I strangle her in my arms, she stares up at me with her wide violet eyes, almost tinged with red—like the color of dried blood—and she calmly says the words that I so dreaded to hear.

"What are you doing here?"

Had she expected me not to come? And how do those words flow out of her mouth, with no shame, and no remorse? How can she look at me so simply, when she's stolen away so many things?

_This is the little girl that ran off with my heart._

And I want it back.

* * *

"Nii-sama, I can explain." I bubbled and blabbered out words—oh, I was going to be in so much trouble, Ukitake taichou would be told of my delay and nii-sama would never permit me to leave on a mission again—dammit—and the secret pathway would no longer be secret, and Renji would be discovered the next time he ran off to the Rukongai to buy some sake—and... A few profane words escaped and clambered around my mind. Nii-sama's hold on me was like a little girl holding a bug—disgusted, and very, very uncomfortable. His hands were clenched and tightened, and from the way that his jaw was set in a straight, forward, unnerving stature, I knew that he was furious.

But of what?

Leaving without permission was not something that required an entire hunt-chase throughout the Sereitei. I had thought that there were spies in the Soul Society, or some strange mutiny—surely this amounted to something more than just a brother-and-sister's spat over authority? And from the look on my brother's face, I would think that something simply outraging had occurred (more outraging than my disobedience, anyhow), but the more I rattled my brains for an explanation, the more empty the suggestions became. And when I reached the point of breaking hysteria from the paranoia, I began beating against my brother's chest—"Let. Me. GO!"

If he had come merely to berate me for my rebellious behavior, I was completely prepared to begin a feud. To think that his arrogance had reached the point of complete control of my actions and my decisions was absolutely ridiculous—not to mention he had stolen away my ecstasy and replaced it with complete hysteria. My light was gone, my wings were clipped and I could no longer reach out to the sky; and he is still scrabbling at my arms, restraining me. Oppression leads to rebellion.

If it weren't for Hisana, I would not think twice before leaving.

My fists were landing straight on mark against nii-sama's chest, beating against a hard, metal-like wall that barely recoiled against each blow. It was increasingly infuriating, how he could stand so smugly, watching me helplessly flail against him as the darkness slowly swallowed up the moment of pure light.

I looked up at his face, still quite and serene (with that air of superiority—oh, how I wanted to wipe that emotion off his face) and my hand suddenly reacted, whipping across his high cheekbone. The back of my hand burned where it had met his flesh, and I felt as though I had done the damage to myself as well.

_That look on his face._

I had seen that look somewhere before, sometime that I couldn't quite place a finger to yet. It had most definitely not been addressed to me—perhaps not even to anyone of the Squad—I can't remember. It was a soft look, and for once, the pale grey eyes no longer clouded with storm, but cleared with pain. It was a smooth, tender grey, not a striking, piercing (almost black) glint. It was a look of…

_Remorse?_

Impossible. The only time I had ever seen my nii-sama express remorse was when he had lost fifteen men in a miscommunication that resulted in a disastrous assault on a huddle of Menos Hollows. And even then, his eyes had not been so concentrated; the pain had been spread over a span of people, and others were ready to bear it for him. What was he regretting now? This look of his, I remember now, is one that he only ever showed when he stared into the only dust-covered photograph of Hisana on his dressing table. It was a look that I had only glimpsed once in my lifetime, and one that he never intentionally allowed others to see.

Did he see it as weakness? No—it was admirable. It is always admirable when someone is so willing to admit defeat and resign to their loss. The most despicable, and most common error is when people wallow in their regret alone, allowing it to multiply and surrender to it. It wrenches their minds apart; turns light into dark, and dark into light. Is he trying to tell me something? Or, should I rather, is there something that he should be telling me, but he can't?

"I-I'm so sorry, n-nii-sama." _What in the world was I saying now?_ "I'm sorry."

Grey met violet, and a sharp look of understanding shot between us. The light slowly retraced its path back to the shadows, and the shadows lifted their heads to become light. This overturning of tides, like the slow tilt of a pendulum, softly and steadily started time again. His hand clenched at my wrist as he stared into my eyes, digging deeper than was comfortable. It was a quick dissection and scrutiny.

"Don't be," he whispered.

* * *

_Sorry for the long wait! I've been really busy with Quiz Bowl and piano competitions. We won first place at Nationals Quiz Bowl and I'm really happy right now. Also, I've been reading a lot of Steinbeck recently-I really love that guy. I would recommend East of Eden to anyone around my age (middle/high school-ish). It's a beautifully written novel, and I just love that Steinbeck guy. :D_

_So, quotes at the top just barely fit into today's piece, but try to find a way to incorporate them in (I would love to hear your interpretations). The first quote is from T.S. Eliot's The Hollow Men_, _it's a short poem that's really quite stunning. The second is from another wonderful writer that I adore: Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five, and in no way is this quote the best quote from the book. I just thought it was a good slice to open the piece with- a simple little saying that Vonnegut repeatedly uses in his satirical novel. _

_Sorry again, for the delay. I love you guys-Shout out to soulflower70 and Cieldoll, as well as Nami-san625! Thanks for reviewing! Without reviews, I would look something like this: _:(

_I think I'm losing my train of thought. Anyways, read and review!_

_Thanks_


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